A movie review of ​JACKIE.

Eerie, experimental, unnerving. The aftermath of JFK.’s assassination from the perspective of Jackie. It takes time to get used to Natalie Portman’s performance. It jars and initially comes across as an impression; but then acclimatisation, to a distinctive thespian inhabiting the persona of one of the world’s most famous women. Though we try to settle into our seats, we never really do. Akin to a Michael Haneke movie, the skin crawls without the audience quite able, at the time, to place a finger on why. The image of blood on Jackie’s face, her immaculate suit in slight askew, is surely meant to haunt. A non-salacious shower scene has the lead washing husband gore from her hair.

​John Fitzgerald Kennedy (Caspar Phillipson) is glimpsed, but here not given a personality. Perhaps so the iconic president’s presence is not a distraction to the matters focused on. Like in Cate Blanchett’s ELIZABETH, Jacqueline is a political player almost alone in a time of little gender parity. Some sort of power, beyond the office of First Lady, is thrust upon her. She has influence, but it is hazy. Who to trust? Who has her back? John Carroll Lynch, the suspect serial killer in ZODIAC, plays here Vice President Lyndon Johnson – he is physically imposing, not as apparently able as his predecessor (Bobby Kennedy (Peter Sarsgaard) has no respect for LBJ and his team), and because of that casting-nod a little bit untrustworthy.

Surrounded by enemies and/or paranoia – arguably the first pop culture conspiracy theory is nascent. In the plane with JFK’s coffin and surrounded by men, it reminds of Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling visiting a funeral parlour in THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS – overwhelmed and seemingly out of her element, yet emitting the vibe of someone absorbing and processing information at an impressive rate. Jackie still in pink suit, no desire to change outfits, and everyone else in black, is part of the cleverly isolating imagery.​

​The narrative structure especially, unexpectedly elevates. It is as if JACKIE layers time, interweaving:- The event and immediate week-long repercussions.- Later, an interview - Billy Crudup’s reporter says he is trying to get the truth, but will settle for a believable story.- Stepping backwards, newly ensconced, a tour of the White House for television. Attention is drawn to a factoid - Jackie is the third youngest wife of the then 29 presidents.

The character of Jacqueline is contrasted: The innocence of furnishings chat for the cameras, to distraught and confused, to politically savvy and sparing with a seasoned journalist – both have their guards up, he underestimates her, he debatably drops his guard first. She talks and talks, and most of it makes sense.​

​Grandiose, unsettling music (another doozy of a score from Mica Levi – UNDER THE SKIN) builds the feel of an epic beyond its probable budget. The filmmakers paint a dexterous portrait of the macrocosm of a country, and the microcosm of an individual, in mourning and disarray. (By the way, director Pablo Larraín has not just delivered one compelling and unusual biopic in 2016, but two – see also the tonally different but still disjointing, NERUDA.)

The levels of anguish are hinted at with aplomb:- The minutia of physically leaving the White House and finding a suitable home.- What should Jacqueline do now for a career?- The injustice of JFK’s presidency cut short.- A deeper anxiety: Are she and her children in danger? Bill Walton (Richard E. Grant) tells her the world has gone mad, and advises to take her offspring and build a fortress. (That’s something you never want to hear!)- And the idea of legacy, “It is no way to be remembered,” says Jackie. “We could have done so much,” opines Bobby.​

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